Scott Staples

The International Burger Connection

By Ronald Holden

As the world becomes dark and dangerous, comfort food becomes increasingly important. And what's more comforting than a burger? Not just here in Seattle, but across the world as well, in the most highly-rated kitchens of Europe.

Take, for example, the world's most famous opera house, in the center of Italy's fashion capital of Milan. It's the Teatro alla Scala, housed in an elegant neoclassical structure a short walk from the city's flamboyant cathedral square and grand Galleria. The theater entrance is on the right side of the building, and to the left, behind a row of high Palladian windows, is one of Italy's best restaurants, three Michelin stars, named for its chef, Gualtiero Marchesi. You can't find a better (or pricier) osso buco or risotto Milanese anywhere, and it's here that a young Scott Staples (photo), in 1990, to "apprentice."

Staples had grown up in a restaurant family, cooked in half a dozen spots around Colorado. Then a year in Italy before he and his wife, Heather, moved to Seattle, where she got a master's degree in architecture. Scott cooked at places like the Palm Court and Third Floor Fish Cafe, and eventually opened his own fine-dining spot in Belltown, Restaurant Zoë, as well as a pub, Quinn's, on Capitol Hill. At Zoë, he would fuss over a braised pork shank; at Quinn's, you got a bacon burger. Not surprisingly, the burgers did better.

Staples found a garage in Fremont and turned it into Uneeda Burger; with the burger shack he seemed to have hit his mark. The opening salvo: $5 for a quarter-pound patty, romaine, pickles, and sauce. More meat, more condiments, until you get to a $13.50 Medi-Terra lamb burger with peppers, Manchego, and lemon. There was even an upscale wine list.

Staples's next venture was called Feed Co., located at 7990 Leary Way NE, in Redmond. The weigh-in for the burgers is still a quarter pound; you could add more meat, cheese, and so on. But it's interesting to check out the upgrades like the Blue Onion ($8.75), which has caramelized onions for sweetness, blue cheese for saltiness, arugula for bitterness, and a proprietary mayo-like sauce for a creamy mouth-feel. The onions on the Texicana are frizzled (hand-chopped on the griddle) and a grilled jalapeño, the bim burger has ginger beef and pickled daikon. At these prices, it's no wonder that fries are extra, which means you don't have to be tempted. Instead, you can suck down a milkshake, made with Snoqualmie ice cream; I much enjoyed the blueberry-blackberry blend.

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In the meantime, Staples's Italian mentor, Marchesi, returned his Michelin stars, actually sent them back, and published a diatribe against the whole concept of restaurant ratings. He opened a couple more restaurants in northern Italy, founded an international organization of celebrated chefs, and became for a time the rector of ALMA, the Italy's top culinary school.

He also did something that raised more than a few eyebrows: he put his name on the recipes for two new burgers sold in Italy by McDonalds. The marketing line: "Begin to Believe."

Remember that Italy is a country with a strong tradition of street-food. Not fast-food, but food you buy on the street and eat from your hand. Arancini (deep-fried, stuffed rice balls) and cannoli (yes, cannoli) to name but two. Pizza by the slice, folded over like a book. (Then again, never coffee. Ever.) American-style fast food in the land of slow simmered ragù has been a long, hard sell. Not to mention that it's expensive! A Big Mac goes for $8, a McBacon for $8.25, and that's without fries or soda.

So, the challenge facing McDonald's in Italy was never price resistance but concern that the product didn't measure up to Mamma's homemade pasta. And this is where Marchesi came in, still active at 85 and Italy's reigning voice of culinary authority. Concerned that young Italians no longer know what good food tastes like, Marchesi struck a deal with Mickey to upgrade the entire menu. "Haute Cuisine comes to McDonald's" was the tag line.

"Why should the rich be the only ones to eat well?" Marchesi asked in a magazine interview. He sees his work with McDonald's as a public service. "Children especially are at risk of obesity because of industrial food." And it's true. The last time I was in Florence I tried the entry-level Bavarese ($2.50); it tasted like a Whopper Junior, without pickles.

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Feed Co.'s latest outpost, at the eastern edge of Madrona, is not large, and the menu (short on alcoholic options) is not designed for lingering. Instead, Staples has leased half the vacant lot across the street so that moms on their way home or dads out shopping can call ahead, park across the street, and scoop up their family orders. He loves the "incredible diversity" of his customer base in the Central District.

"All of our restaurants are independent and different," Staples says. "We're not into doing multiples." Maybe another location, but not before the end of 2017.

As his "empire" expands (four restaurants, an event space, a catering company), Staples remains committed to a stable home life for his family and to managing growth. Like other restaurant entrepreneurs, he acknowledges the vital role of a Human Resources director. "It's all about the people you hire," he acknowledges.

"Burgers, hot dogs, and baseball are ingrained in our culture, in our collective consciousness," Staples reminded me just last week. French fries, potato salad. It's family food, like a quick pizza, part of the night but not the whole night.

So, if you're afraid the world will end between the election and the inauguration, don't let yourself get vaporized without having made at least one quick trip to 24^th and E. Union. Free parking across the street, don't forget.

Ronald Holden's new book about Seattle's food ecosystem, FORKING SEATTLE, is now available from Amazon.com, http://amzn.to/2cr2RwJ , or for the Kindle download, http://amzn.to/2cJapgf